


Your Heart Is Still Wild

by indierection (amandamoraisa)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Cocktail Party, First Date, First Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kinda, M/M, alternative universe, balls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 12:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6956227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandamoraisa/pseuds/indierection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had only agreed to accompany his mum to the charity ball because she was very persistent. Ten minutes before they're leaving to the party, though, he finds out his childhood crush will be there and it's fine. He's totally over Louis, he really is. But what if Louis has grown not only to be the most gorgeous person Harry has ever set eyes on, but also the most generous and caring one? Sounds like that dying crush may not be that dead after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Heart Is Still Wild

**Author's Note:**

  * For [htibberon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/htibberon/gifts).



> soooo i kinda mixed these two plots:
> 
> "Childhood best friends who break apart cause one of them moves and they meet again years later"  
> &  
> "Harry and Louis's moms are friends and try to hook their sons up but they are both dead set against liking someone their moms picked out for them"
> 
> because what if they've been in love for twelve years? i hope that you like it :P
> 
> ps: title from the song 'little whiskey' by angus & julia stone

It all starts with their nosy mothers.

Anne and Jay met in Uni and have been friends for more than twenty years. They were inseparable from their first year up until Anne's graduation, and even when they moved to different towns and built their own lives far from each other, their friendship never died.

They've always kept in touch throughout the years, that way friends who've been together through thick and thin, ramen noodles and morning after hangovers, can be. At least once a week they'd phone to talk about their children and, when they had more free time, meet in person for tea.

Harry and Louis have known each other since they were little kids, and even though they got along pretty well, they never got to see each other that often. You see, their mothers could only manage to squeeze occasional meetings into their busy schedules.

Still, there were moments of joy and self discovery that they will always remember dearly. Like when Harry lost a baby tooth in a playground in Holmes Chapel and Louis held it in the palm of his hand like a precious gemstone. Or the day Louis got a skateboard from Santa and, in an attempt to impress the other boy, scrapped his knee but got a Spiderman plaster and Harry was so envious. All the times they pretended they were pirates exploring the new land of Jay's unkempt backyard. When they had a sleepover and Louis let Harry into his bed after reading ghost stories in the improvised blanket tent, and they woke up safe and warm to the first light of day, a messy tangle of limbs and hair.

All these sweet memories were kept unblemished in the safety of their own hearts but, eventually. the two boys stopped bumping into each other more and more, until Louis grew old enough to be left alone at home. And that would remain unchanged, the memories just an old childhood photograph of a time long gone, if it wasn't for the fact that they have nosy, extremely nosy, mothers.

The answer was so obvious, right in front of them, and yet they never realised that Harry and Louis should date.

Jay and Anne could be more than friends: they could be family. Plus, their sons would be dating someone who they obviously approved of and would be, hopefully, perfectly matched. The only thing they had to do was come up with a plan.

A foolproof, extraordinary plan that, at the same time, would throw their sons into each other's arms without giving away that the two women had it all thought through, from wedding colour schemes to where the couple and their babies would spend which holiday.

Harry and Louis would fall in love in no time and they wouldn't even know what hit them.

(It was cupid's arrow)

-

Harry is a bit nervous about this cocktail party for no apparent reason. _Well, maybe one_ , he thinks smiling secretively at his reflection in the mirror while fixing the collar of his shirt. His mother left the hotel room just 10 minutes ago, right after casually bringing up that they'd meet her friend Jay and her son Louis at the ball.

“You remember Louis, right? You used to share the kiddie pool butt naked every summer,” Anne reminded him, missing how his ears burned deep red.

“I don't remember that episode specifically, but I do remember Louis,” he blurted, desperately pushing to the back of his mind all the memories that came rushing back without permission.

The thing is: he used to have a crush on Louis Tomlinson.

It was just... Well, you know when you develop feelings for that attractive, older, funnier friend of yours but you eventually grow apart because of life moving on? And then you remember that first love fondly, because it was so innocent and pure, but obviously you’ve overcome it after so much time? That's where Harry thinks he stands now, although he'll admit he's really curious to see who Louis turned out to be.

So, that's where Harry finds himself now: in a hotel in London, getting ready for a party and about to meet his crush from twelve years ago. Anne had invited him for this charity ball to support children with degenerative disease and he didn't thought much of it when he accepted to accompany her a couple of months ago. Now he wonders if it was a good idea.

He finishes his hair with a last spritz of hairspray just to be sure the swoop he sculpted would stay up. Then, he sprays himself with more perfume than necessary, creating a dense cloud that gets him coughing.

The hotel he and his mum are staying at has this pompous staircase that leads to the lobby and the front desk, flanked with dark hardwood handrails and wrought iron balusters, and decorated with chandeliers, kind of like the Titanic stairway. In a tuxedo and slicked hair, he feels like Leonardo.

His mum is waiting for him on the bar, chatting with an elderly couple and already drinking a martini. She looks stunning in a teal silk dress, her hair held away from her beautiful face. By the smile that melts on her face when she spots him, he guesses he doesn't look too bad himself. When he greets the couple and asks her if she's ready to leave offering his arm, he can't help but bend down into his mother's space to whisper, “You think they think we're a couple?”

“Harry!” she exclaims in pretende offence, but with a delighted glint in her eyes.

Outside the night is cool and the sky reminds Harry of a watercolour pallet, all soft oranges and pale pinks because the sun doesn't want to go just yet. The taxi ride doesn't take longer than twenty minutes, but when Harry and Anne arrive the party is already in full swing. It's a bigger affair than Harry imagined, and if his stomach knocks around inside of him like socks on hardwood floor then nobody needs to know.

When they enter the hall, the cocktail party is so grand that you could swear it had been thrown by Gatsby himself. Waiters offer unlimited flutes of champagne, a big band plays upbeat jazz classics and the guests are in high spirits.

“Shall we go find Jay?” Anne asks with a mocking tilt of formality in her voice.

“So we shall, madam,” he answers just as mockingly.

They circulate taking in everything and commenting on small details here and there. A waiter passes by and they accept the flutes of champagne that he offers. Harry notices a table with some pamphlets explaining all the work the charity does, and he fishes one just in case he needs to keep up with the conversation at the dinner table – he doesn't want to sound like an insensitive twat, thanks very much.

In the end, Jay is the one who spots them.

“Anne!” Jay exclaims, walking towards them, arms already opened for a hug.

“Oh, hello, love,” the other woman says into long brown hair. “How are you? Is everything going well?”

“Oh, you know, lots to organize and the catering team is short of people, but we'll manage,” she says. Jay sports a beautiful red gown, her long strands of hair curled and shiny and the perpetual warm smile that reaches her eyes that Harry could never forget.

He finally shuffles between the women to greet Jay, accepting willingly two kisses on the cheeks.

“Harry, my pet. Are you getting taller each time we bump, or am I just shrinking?” she asks hugging him as tight as she hugged his mother.

He laughs, embarrassed because that's such an old joke, but he rolls with it anyway. “You say that as if it's a good thing. I'm quite sure my feet will dangle off of the small bed of our hotel.”

“Suppose there are advantages in being short, isn't it?” Jay says after laughing in delight.

“And where is Louis?” Anne pipes in, looking around as if to find the boy. Man. Because Louis is a man now.

“I've got no idea, I must say. Running errands. But I'll get him by the ear and make him come say hi.” Her phone beeps and she flashes the screen for two seconds, cursing under her breath. “In the meantime you two make sure to grab something to eat, yeah? Dinner is served at 9.” Jay's about to leave when she turns on her heels, a bit more frazzled than her tranquil self that Harry remembers, “Oh, and it was lovely seeing you, my dear,” she says to him.

“Likewise,” he replies sincerely.

Anne and Harry find a sofa in a quiet corner to sit on, and they finish their drinks in a comfortable silence.

“Next round is on me,” he jokes already getting up, but Anne doesn't even look up from her phone. That's rude, she should at least try to be nice to him, he only accepted to come with her because Robin was travelling on business. He's at the bar after deciding to have a gin and tonic, waiting for the cute bartender to notice him, when they meet.

“Harry Styles?” says the high pitched and distinct voice to his left. Later, he'll admit that that voice does make something bubble inside his chest, but right now he's still in too much of a shock to feel anything else other than surprised.

Louis Tomlinson is... Wow, Louis is hypnotic and… pretty. That’s the word. Like gorgeous. He's still so breathtakingly handsome. Harry likes to believe he'd recognize Louis if they bumped into each other on the street, even nowadays, because Louis eyes are still the most beautiful blue and his skin still smooth and perpetually sun kissed.

“Louis?” Harry finally manages to sputter. “I... Hi.”

“Hello there, how are you?” he asks extending his hand for Harry to shake.

Harry knows he should have predicted that, as that's what acquaintances meeting each other do. But he's not sure he's prepared to touch Louis Tomlinson just yet. He thought he was prepared for this, but a thousand and one different emotions come rushing back in a turmoil when Louis takes the initiative and shakes his hand despite Harry's catharsis, and things are seem to already be heading for a disaster.

“So?” Louis asks when Harry remains in quiet awe. “How are you?”

“I'm... fantastic!” Harry answers three tones above the usual. Christ, he really needs to chill. “I'm absolutely brilliant. Swell. Just... great, really.” Louis keeps nodding as Harry babbles nonsense and embarrasses himself.

“That's nice to hear,” he answers with a warm smile that reminds so much of Jay's.

Harry realises a bit too late that Louis is waiting for him to do the courtesy of asking back. “What about you? I mean, you look amazing,” he adds giving Louis a completely unintentional once over. Lord, someone save him from himself.

“I'm fantastic as well. How are you finding the ball?”

“We're really enjoying ourselves. Mum's here too, she's sitting over there,” Harry adds, pointing in the general direction to where he hopes Anne is still waiting for him. “I just came to get us drinks.”

“What are you having?” he asks, waving the cute bartender over.

“You really don't have to bother.”

“Harry,” Louis says appeasing, sliding a hand across the countertop to squeeze Harry's forearm reassuring, “what kind of host would I be?”

“You're... You're hosting this ball?!” Harry asks baffled.

Louis is thoroughly bashful when he answer, “I am, yes,” smiling sheepish as if it's no big deal that he's saving thousands of small children's lives.

“So you're not over your hero complex, I see,” Harry teases.

“Oh, shush!” He says, not letting the banter go further because the bartender is finally there. “We're going to have...”

“Gin and tonic,” Harry supplies.

“Two gin and tonics, please Thomas.”

“Right away, sir,” the cute bartender says, before leaving to fix their drinks and there's something inherently hot about the bloke calling Louis 'sir.' Like, they're adults now, that's... That's weird. And hot.

“So... are you a multimillionaire or something?” Harry asks jokingly, smiling into his glass.

“Or something, yeah,” Louis says all mysteriously, and Harry is immediately transferred to a day back in the 90's when Louis tried to hide the fact that he had broken a beautiful crystal vase Jay cherished. He doesn't know why, but just... the mischievous sparkle in his eyes take Harry all those years back.

“That's nice of you. Beyond nice, actually. Has anyone told you that you’re a saint?”

“A dozen of times this night alone,” he answers in fake cockiness, and Harry snorts an ugly laugh. When he looks up from his already half drank G&T, Louis is studying him with flickering eyes.

“Your laugh...” Louis says, voice low as if going back to the past to fish out an old memory, “... it's exactly the same.”

Harry blushes but tries to not read too much into it. “You mean loud and obnoxious?” Louis nods just to mess with him. He always had a good time picking on him. “Well, I am the same.”

“That's not true,” Louis disagrees, and his voice is louder again, sounding like he snapped back into reality. “You're completely different, all tall and... grown up.”

“We're old Louis, let's face it.”

“Speak it for yourself. I'm...” he takes a sip of his drink just for dramatics and Harry's heart does a somersault because it's so bloody familiar, “... more mature. That's all.”

Harry clucks his tongue dismissively. “If I'm old, you're ancient.”

“I'll kick you out of my party, Styles.”

“You can try, but I'm a head taller than you now.”

“Excuse me, you are not,” Louis says affronted, delicate hand holding his heart in an exaggerated manner. “And fine, I'll have your arse kicked out of my party by the security guards.”

“My apologies, my beloved king,” Harry teases, bowing down.

Louis laughs a delighted laugh that goes all the way up to his crinkled eyes. Something warm sways inside of Harry and it can't be good. Things are definitely going too fast and he can feel it setting on his bones, something heavy and homelike.

There's this feeling of nostalgia hidden right between the crinkles around Louis' eyes, a sense that time hasn't passed a second on the way his hair still glows underneath the yellow lights. Harry unsuccessfully tries to swallow a lump forming on his throat. He shakes his head to make his brain come to life again.

Knocked back to reality, he realises he's been fixed looking at Louis this whole time. Louis must think he's grown weirder than he already was. They are both still staring at each other when a red haired man Harry thinks he's seen before interrupts them.

“Sorry to interrupt, but the chef needs you in the kitchen, Louis,” the man says.

“Right, right,” Louis says blinking fast. “Uhm, Oli, do you remember Harry? Harry Styles?”

The man stops in his tracks so abruptly that Harry jolts too. “Yeah. I do remember Harry. How are you doing, mate?” He asks, shaking Harry's hand, and there's a knowing glint in his eyes that Harry can't shake off, even after the two men leave.

“What took you so long?” Anne asks when he finally returns sans glass of champagne.

“I ran into Louis.”

“Oh!” she exclaims lighting up like a Christmas tree. Then, as an afterthought, she adds with furred brows, “Not literally, I hope?”

“Mum, of course not.”

“Well honey, let's face it, you do have a tendency of stumbling more than the average.”

“Do you think it'll take long for dinner to be served?” he asks, trying to change the subject.

It works. “I don't know, it's nearly nine, isn't it?”

“Ten to. Hey, did you know Louis is hosting this ball?” he asks watching her from the corner of his eyes. By the lack of reaction, he'd guess she did.

The speeches begin exactly at nine, and thank the Lord that they don't take long. When it's Louis' turn, Harry finally gets to notice how smart he's look. He's in a tuxedo so well cut that it perfectly embraces all the curves of his body. Harry knows it's shallow to notice this sort of thing when Louis is talking about such serious matters, but his eyes keep getting drawn to the bend of Louis' waist and it's absolutely maddening.

When the guests are finally guided to their seats, Harry can't help but wonder if the gods above are having a laugh at his expense today, because only that could explain why he's sat right beside Louis. He's not even someone important to the event, he really shouldn't be in that honorary place. Looking across the table, he notices Jay waving excitedly at him, taking her place right beside Anne.

They’re sitting in front of their mums? What sort of sick joke is this?

He keeps glancing at the card where 'Louis Tomlinson' is written in a golden fancy handwriting every ten seconds. Thankfully, Anne and Jay are too engrossed in some gossip about their Uni friends to mind him.

The waiters are already positioning around the table with the entrées and Louis still hasn't arrived. Harry is starting to feel disappointed, and he doesn't even know what's worse: Louis never appearing, or having to endure a whole five course dinner by his side.

If Harry had any doubts about sitting there, though, they all dissolve as soon as Louis sets his eyes on him. He notices they're sitting together as he's still strutting to his place, and his smile keeps growing with each step that he takes.

“I gather we're sitting together?” he says charmingly as a waiter pulls a chair for him.

“Guess we are.”

“Just like old times,” Louis says softly, unfolding the napkin and placing it on his lap.

“How so?”

“We always begged to sit together, don't you remember? At the cinema, in the car... What happened to Anne's old Ford, by the way? The blue one?” he asks, snapping his finger, genuinely interested.

“Oh, that's a funny story, actually. Gemma inherited it when she got her license,” he explains, having a sip of water. “She took it to Oxford, gave it some fair deal of marks, and then, when I got my license, I inherited from her.”

Louis stares at him blankly for a couple of second, waiting. “Is that it?”

“Yep.”

“I thought you said it was a funny story...” he teases over Harry's long and whiny 'Heeey'. “I forgot you're absolutely rubbish at telling stories.”

“Now that's just mean, Louis.”

“You know I've never been a good boy,” he says shrugging as if it was his nature and he couldn't change it. Maybe he's right, maybe he was and will still keep being a rascal.

“What I know is that you had a teddy bear called Mr. Fuzzy Paws.”

“It was a rabbit. And can we not bring up embarrassing moments from our childhood?” Louis asks, taking a bite of some food, and Harry didn't even realise they were served the first course already. It's a salad with arugula, sun dried tomatoes and a white soft cheese that looks delicious.

“Fine. I'll not mention that time you scrapped your knee ‘cause you were showing off with your new skateboard,” Harry adds just to be cheeky.

“I was trying to impress you...”

“... and it obviously didn't work.”

“Obviously. But I'd really appreciate if we kept those things in the past,” he says, sipping red wine, and Harry only follows the movement because the drink leaves Louis lips incredibly red and isn't that amazing? “Like that time you cried because a seagull stole your ice cream.”

Harry looks at him wide eyed because he didn't remember it until now, but now that Louis mentioned it he does have a faint memory of this unfortunate event. “I was what? Six? Cause I'm not ashamed.”

“Oh, you're definitely not a shy person,” Louis says maliciously, waggling his eyebrows.

“Now what's that suppose to mean?”

“I don't know, you tell me, skinny-dipper.”

“Oh, bug off!” Harry says, blushing. Does Louis need to remember everything? Fucking elephant memory...

Louis' laugh is bright and crisp and it fills the whole room. Or at least just Harry's ears. He missed it, he now realises.

“Okay, okay, let's not talk about the past anymore,” Louis says, tapping Harry lightly on the thigh and okay, that was... odd. Oddly good. “Tell me about you, then. What have you been up to?”

Harry is glad he's still chewing, so he buys himself time to recover from the patting. He tells Louis about his Masters in Economics and about his work as an assistant professor. In exchange, Louis explains how he got involved in the charity, and how his job gives him opportunity to help other people (apparently he's the CEO of a company because he invented a sports app that got him filthy rich).

All this time Harry feels himself getting dragged more and more by Louis' eyes, blue as the midday tide. His voice keeps swirling in Harry's brain like a mantra, persistent but at the same time soothing. Louis whole person is just so... magnetic. He demands attention like a spotlight, and Harry wonders why the whole room isn’t paying attention to Louis and his gorgeous self.

At some point of the dinner Louis hand finds Harry's knee. It happens very casually, Louis is telling him a tale about one of his younger sisters, Lottie, and how she works with make up here in London, when he slides a hand under the table over Harry's leg, as if it's nothing. Maybe because it isn't?

It's not even the most intimate Louis ever touched him, that's for sure. But they were children and hadn't even realised they were attracted to men by then. Now it's completely different. And the fact that Louis squeezes Harry's bony knee a couple of times but doesn't let go is unsettling. Not because Harry doesn't like, he loves it, but he can't pay attention to the conversation anymore. Not with Louis small fingers drumming on his leg at some sort of maddening the tempo.

If before the dinner he felt they were heading to some new, uncanny place, now it sounds like this is an imminent tragedy. The detonation point seems to get increasingly closer and closer because Harry can't tell for how much longer he will stand the feeling of being pulled towards Louis and not doing anything. Especially with all the drinks he'd had already.

He's so inside of his own mind that he jolts startled in his chair when the dinner ends and someone announces that the dance floor is open. It's only then that Louis releases his knee. One of the legs of Harry's trousers feels warm where the palm was resting and he takes a long sip of wine to calm down his heart.

After that, a DJ is set to play pop music. Tables are pushed to the walls and some women have already given up their high heels and are dancing barefoot. Harry finds both of their mothers sitting at one of the small tables set around the dance floor, and until a minute ago Louis was going alongside him, but he got intercepted by some executives and had to stop to make some small talk.

“I see you two were catching up, yeah?” Jay points out when Harry sits by her left.

“Yes, we... we chatted a little,” he says, because honestly, how is he suppose to say, 'Your son nearly gave me an erection because I'm not over my crush on him' without sounding crass?

“Rekindling the friendship?” Anne asks, and is it him or is she giving off a... malicious vibe?

“You could say that,” he answers, still not giving anything away. He would very much like to keep this to himself, so he will be able to forget this night ever happened and that Louis still does things to him.

A waiter passes and Harry gets himself another champagne glass, and he knows he should slow down, especially if Louis intends to be around him and their mothers for the rest of the night. But Harry's just feeling really unsettled and too big for his skin.

Said and done. After half an hour passes, Louis shows up again, his undone bowtie hanging from his neck in a way that turns Harry's insides into pure jelly.

“I'm so glad you boys got along just as well as when you were little!” Jay says excitedly, reaching out to wrap an arm around Louis' waist.

“What about you two?” Louis asks the two women. “Are you enjoying yourselves? Have you hit the dance floor already?”

Anne laughs softly, before asking, “Aren't we too old for that?”

“Absolutely not,” Louis answers without missing a beat. “What's the point of going to a party and not dancing at least one song? Tell you what Anne, next song, you and I,we’ll show people how to do it.”

“Is that a competition?” Jay asks arching her eyebrows in a way that Louis must have inherited because it's the exact the same.

“Cause you know nobody can stand against Jay and I,” Harry says getting up and offering a hand for Jay to hold.

“If I remember well, you were already clumsy as hell when you had half of that leg length,” Louis banters, and it's game on.

The next song starts and each pair head to the dance floor and Harry's not expecting their mothers to keep up with “Hey Ya!” but they're rocking. Louis dances with Anne while looking challengingly at Harry, both of them doing some weird snakey moves with their arms. So, to retaliate, Harry asks Jay to help him do a pirouette like a ballerina and he ends the swirl sticking his tongue out to the other pair. The four of them keep laughing and laughing all the time, they can't seem to be able to stop, even when the song is over.

“That was really lovely, but I'm afraid I'll have to ask for a pit stop to catch up my breath,” Anne says, giving Louis a brief hug.

“Thanks, dear,” Jay says turning to Harry. “I'm going to have some water with your mum, but you two have fun.”

Louis laughter faded to a smile, but he's still buzzing with energy, Harry can tell. There are droplets of sweat on his forehead but he looks gorgeous.

When “Don't Cha” starts to play, Louis closes the distance between them, before deciding, “We have to dance this one.”

Harry doesn't complain, just follows Louis as he guides them to a place against a wall that Harry guesses is more discreet. He tries to not wonder why Louis decided to change locations, and not to imagine themselves grinding against each other to the Pussycat Dolls cause that's so 2004. It's too overdue.

Louis holds his drink up for a toast and Harry clinks their flutes against each other holding eye-contact, thinking _Well, two can play this game_.

Harry dances with his eyes-closed when the particularly fast bridge starts because Louis has his back turned to him and his bubble arse wiggling is too tempting. Harry just raises his arms and lets his body guide the moves. The lights flash so frantically that he can sense them even through his eyelids.

He's swinging his hips lost in the music when he feels Louis warmth. The other man is flush pressed against his back and Harry can see wavy small arms coming from behind him when he opens his eyes. Louis is not moving too fast, only lightly rubbing against Harry's torso, but his hot breath hits Harry right on the neck, making him shiver and lose the rhythm.

Harry turns around still bracketed by Louis' arm, smiling dizzy because he can't help it. Yes, he's tipsy, but the smile that spreads on his face like butter on a toast has nothing to do with this. Louis is smiling too and his hair tumbled down to a soft fringe at this point.

“This is so secondary school,” Louis shout-whispers above the song straight into Harry's ear.

“It is, isn't it?” he agrees. “When we were happy and didn't know.”

“We can still be happy,” Louis says, and Harry doesn't know if it is to make his point across or just a coincidence, but Louis chooses this moment to hold Harry's side and guide him, setting the rhythm.

Harry looks down at Louis lips, thin and pouty and so, so kissable. On his chest his heart has been replaced by a drum, beating unbelievably loud, like mad. Louis looks up at him with long angelic eyelashes and a slack mouth. A hundred thoughts fly through Harry's brain, like a flock of sparrows, but he can't catch a single one. All he can do is study Louis face one more time before bending down.

He's already leaning when a hand on his chest stops him mid-move. Harry's blood freezes in panic because _Fuuuck what was I thinking?_ , but before he can say anything stupid, Louis murmurs, “No, not here.”

And the music is so loud, the lights so bright, the booze so intoxicating, that Harry's still disorientated and he doesn't understand what Louis says. The words only start making sense when Louis' already grabbing him by the wrist and taking him somewhere else.

They rush out of the dance floor and there's a flight of stairs that they climb practically running. Harry is still all over the place because _No, not here. NOT HERE. Where, then? Where?_ when Louis walks him across a sitting room. He can only register some chairs and a piano before they find another door and he's pushed into a winter garden.

The place is stunning and the quietness there hits them hard after leaving the noisy party. It seems like they've been teleported to another dimension. The place is packed with tropical plants that look oddly out of place, especially because it's raining outside. Half of the garden is a massive balcony with a glass roof, sticking out of the building like a crystal stone cutting a rip into the dark night.

A couple of table sets and settees are placed around for people to lounge and enjoy a piece of nature in the middle of the concrete jungle. There are several potted bromeliads, bracken hanging from the ceiling and rare colourful flowers. It's humid and warm inside the greenhouse, the ideal environment for the plants to develop and people to lose their mind.

Harry can't take in most of these things, though, too busy feeling anxious about what's to come and trying to bring himself to do something. Both men are standing helpless in the middle of the garden and the energy seem to have died down because they don't know what to do next. Louis is the first to react:

“What are we doing?” he asks in a thrill, as if they are about to commit something illegal, with a naughty grin plastered on his face that's the same nine-year-old Louis used to crack.

“I don't know” Harry answers, and to make sure Louis doesn't understand that as backing off, he moves into his personal space, getting close enough to see the grey and orange flakes inside Louis' irises.

“It's... it's crazy, innit?” Louis asks, holding Harry by the hips even closer. Harry nods, incapable of concentrating on anything but Louis’ body flushed against his. “How long has it been? We were friends when we were children and... I mean, I did have a crush on you, looking back now.”

“You did?!” Harry asks, shell shocked, but also flattered. He's so surprised. Apparently Louis wants this as bad as him, and who'd have known?

He notices Louis eyes flickering, and even the way his lashes flutter is breathtaking. Harry can't wait until this talk is over so he'll finally know what Louis mouth tastes like. He wondered for years on end how Louis' lips would feel against his own, how his body would feel under his palms.

“Uh-hum,” Louis hums softly, and Harry can feel his breath on his own cheek. “I don't even remember since when. You were always wee little Harry, and I always had this urge to protect you, so I was a bit torn about... making a move. And I didn't even know how to kiss someone back then. But you were the first person that made me feel this way, you know?”

Harry doesn't want to hear anymore. Doesn't want Louis to admit whatever it is that he feels. Doesn't want to realise that they've been wasting so much time. Doesn't want to spend even a single extra second, so he interrupts Louis murmuring:

“Well, I hope this isnot disappointing...”

And then his mouth is on Louis'.

Harry would cry in relief if he wasn't a grown man, because the kiss is... marvellous. Incredible. Sublime. So much more than he was expecting and still exactly what he wished for. He decides that the wait was definitely worth it when Louis lips drag along his. Louis' kiss is needy and overbearing, and he opens his way inside Harry's mouth by pressing and demanding what he wishes for, his tongue between lips sending heat throughout Harry's whole being.

As if just kissing is not enough, his hands travel from the hips to the small of Harry's back. Harry moves his hands too, grabbing intently the other man by the neck and pulling him closer.

The kiss keeps deepening, intense and scrumptious, but it's still not sufficient to placate Harry's racing heart. The wait is over, but he still wants more. There's warmth surrounding them, but Harry's quite sure that the tropical temperature of the room has nothing to do with it.

Louis walks him backwards until he's pressing Harry into a table, making a loud noise when they knock a chair halfway there. Even then, their mouths never leave each other. Harry moans when his back hits the piece of furniture and Louis crotch dangerously bangs against his; Louis immediately responds with another groan and another thrust. He nibs Harry's lower lip, as if trying to silence them.

Louis draws away for the first time, not only to catch his breath back, but also because he's a bloody tease.

“Fuck, Louis,” Harry complains, grunting in frustration, and the only thing he notices before pulling Louis in by the back of his head is how fiery and alight his blue eyes are.

Louis chuckles into his mouth, groping Harry's bum, and laughing again when the other whimpers. He distracts Harry with a swirl of his tongue that sends him to the moon and back. Harry sees whole constellations as they continue kissing and space and time are trivial, two mere insignificant concepts.

When Louis squeezes Harry's sides too needy and painful, investing against his body, Harry can tell that he's not concerned about time either. The man traces a wet path of brief open-mouthed kisses all over Harry's jaw. The golden scruff that is Louis beard leaves reddish rashes on Harry's face.

Knees and the table doesn't seem to be supporting him anymore and all he has to anchor himself are Louis' shoulders, so his fingertips dig deep into flesh over the jacket. Louis is sucking a love bite right on junction of Harry's jaw with his left ear when he suddenly holds back and lifts his head alarmed. He's flustered when he asks:

“Wait! Are you... conscious enough? I mean, you had lots of champagne...”

“Kinda late to ask, no?” Harry replies cheeky, but his grin melts when Louis never stops caressing his small back, fingers fiddling and distracting. Harry lets his forehead rest against Louis', ducking down so they can fit together, and then he adds: “I'm well aware of what's going on. Well. Aware.”

“Good,” Louis says against his lips, and kisses him again.

They keep kissing, and talking between kisses, sharing whispered old secrets, confessing locked down feelings that they thought would never resurge. And it’s sappy and ridiculous, but Harry would never, not in a million years, expect that his night would have ended like this. Even after learning that Louis would also be at the ball, Harry could never have hoped for something as magical as what just happened in this room.

“How's my hair?” Louis asks when they finally pause to breathe.

“Terrible,” Harry answers, smiling fondly and brushing the soft hair with his fingers. “There you go.”

“Thanks, pet,” Louis says, and, as naturally as he used to hold his hand when they were small so they could run faster, he pecks Harry on the lips. The smile on his face doesn't fade with the kiss, and is still there when he drags Harry across the garden.

Stopping on the tracks when they reach the green room's entrance, Louis chases Harry's gaze until they lock eyes. Unusually serious and earnest, he studies Harry's face for a couple of seconds that stretch for too long, before he finally finds what he's looking for and makes up his mind.

“We'll keep on from here, yeah?” he promises in a raspy and enigmatic tone before he's opening the door and they're transported back to the real world where it's rainy England and they are just rekindled childhood friends.

-

When Harry gets to the hotel from the ball, flustered, thoroughly kissed and with a dumb smile that he can't wipe off no matter what he does, he reaches for the room card inside his pocket, only to find a note that says: ' _Please don't take twelve years to text me. Louis xxxx'_ with his number underneath.

Months later, when Jay and Anne finally admit in a family dinner that they're together thanks to their master plan, Harry and Louis refuse to give them credit for their own incredible and fairytale worth love story. Admittedly, it might be a bit out of spite, but they also want to believe that they were always destined to be. It definitely sounds better than 'our mothers set us up on a date,’ doesn’t it?

 


End file.
